


Sandals and Tequila; Shaken, Not Stirred

by PenelopePenniworth



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Mexico, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Shameless, Shameless Smut, Top Ian Gallagher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 01:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13089873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopePenniworth/pseuds/PenelopePenniworth
Summary: Pretending the end of Season 7 Episode 11 never happened, Ian and Mickey will continue on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first two chapters (and the only ones so far) for this story I wrote up a few months ago. I want to extend it into a full-blown fic, but...I haven't figured out how I want to flesh it out. I've got the beginning and end in mind, but nothing in between. However, I figured because it's going to take me a while to do that I could at least post these since it's pretty much a two-shot at this point and...y'know, I could get my fill of writing 'sexy time' for the boys since it's going to be a couple chapters until (spoiler alert) they get there in my other fic 'Finding Me'.
> 
> Disclaimer: it starts off from the scene as they are at the border.  
> Enjoy~

“You see my stubble?"

"If they stop us, my name's still Mickey. Chicks are called Mickey, right?”

Ian could barely hear a single word coming fro Mickey's mouth behind him as he leaned against the hood of their stolen car. His focus was on the setting sun in the horizon. It haloed everything in front of it, bright rays of gold and scarlet dancing against the purpling sky, blanketing the border patrol as they allowed and denied people entry into Mexico. Such a power they held; they were gods of the states. They held the key to freedom, relinquishing sins of those who were worthy.

He and Mickey had been driving for hours. They watched the sun rise and now they were watching it fall. There was not a moment that he hadn’t been playing out different scenarios of them crossing the border as they approached their destination. He imagined more bad scenarios than good because how many good outcomes could come from smuggling a wanted fugitive across border, surrounded by government officials? Needless to say, he was freaking the fuck out internally.

“Alright. You're driving…” He heard Mickey say, then silence for a few beats. Mickey suddenly appeared in front of him, fully dressed in an actual dress that they had picked up from a thrift store on the way here, “What's the matter with you? Let's go.”

Ian chewed on the inside of his mouth, the sting a welcomed sensation that was almost enough to outweigh the tumbling bout of turmoil. “I can't…” He managed to say.

The comment caused Mickey's expression to falter, head tilted and eyes slightly widened. The fear was gone as quick as it came and Ian had to wonder if that was what he saw.

“You can,” Mickey insisted. He looked into Ian’s eyes, his own bluer than usual due to the mascara coating his lashes. “Get behind the wheel. Drive the damn car…" He waited for a response, but Ian granted him none.

Ian's brain continued to weigh the pros and cons against each other while his heart was fighting for the pros, his limbs doing the other. It was a strong and gritty battle.

"Hey, we're one step from the finish line..." Mickey's voice was thick, a lump no doubt forming in his throat, desperate, and Ian could understand why. Like he said, this was the finish line. This was supposed to be the beginning of a new life for the both of them.

He wasn’t sure which part scared him more: the fact that he was literally leaving everything behind—his entire family, his _boyfriend_ , 21 years of his life—or the fact that they would essentially be starting from a clean slate, that nothing before this moment would exist anymore, it would be just them. Forever. Would he be able to talk to anyone at home? Was that too much of a risk? Was it a risk crossing the border with a “girl” named “Mickey” when the police came knocking at _his_ door specifically, looking for him? Did he want to keep living always looking over his shoulder, sleeping with one eye open for fear that the police would come knocking on their door to take both Mickey and him to prison for aiding and abetting a fugitive?

The amount of time it was taking Ian to respond was putting Mickey on edge as his eyes searched Ian’s, hoping this change of heart was a fleeting thought.

“I want you to come with me.” Mickey’s voice broke on his final word just as this shell Ian was subconsciously building up began to crack and he could see the mist form in his eyes. Ian could count the number of times on one hand that Mickey has been so vulnerable, had felt so low, that he would let his emotions show that much. “Don’t do this…” His voice was nothing more than a whisper. He was breaking. So was Ian.

Ian had been without Mickey for months before the last couple days and as much as he wanted to believe he could let Mickey go so easily, he knew, deep down, he couldn’t. Regardless of the number of distractions he tried to put onto himself, Mickey had secured a spot in his head and his heart and there he stayed, affixed at the back of his mind like it was a natural growth.

Even with all the shit he had endured in his lifetime _with_ Mickey and _because of_ Mickey, he had always been the light at the end of the never-ending tunnel. Nothing was okay unless he had Mickey by his side. Mickey had always been the one there for him more than the family he was contemplating on leaving Mickey for; he’d shown him more love in the past few months before he was hauled away and the last two days, than his family had shown him in the past 2 years.

“I love you,” Ian finally said, really looking at the man before him.

“Then get in the fucking _car_ …” Mickey was practically pleading, though he kept his posture as well as his voice steady and even. There was a pregnant pause before Ian breathed in deeply and turned on his heel, walking over to the car.

He stopped momentarily before turning back around, finding Mickey still standing in his spot, watching him.

“You coming?” From where he stood, he could visibly see the anxiety roll off Mickey’s shoulders and relief take over. But in a second, his jaw tightened and his shoulders rose, stiff in its position. He trudged over to Ian in his heeled boots, which he shockingly knew how to walk in, and drove a fist right into Ian's chest with all the power he could muster up in those few milliseconds as if there was a large target right in the middle and Ian was a human Strongman Game.

Ian doubled over with a deep ' _omph_!', cradling the injusted area. “Ow!” He coughed out.

“You fuckin’ motherfucker,” Mickey punched him in the arm this time and continued wailing on him, now a human Whack-A-Mole. “Don’t you ever do that to me again! Try it and I’ll fuckin’ murder you on the spot.”

“Okay, okay!” Ian exclaimed, shielding himself from the unending blows. “Fuck— I’m sorry! This is a big decision, y’know!”

“You’re fuckin’ telling me! Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Gallagher…” Mickey continued spewing profanities and something about “Fuckin’ Gallaghers” as he made his way to the car, leaving Ian in his place, and entered the passenger side. As if Ian didn’t know that Mickey was pissed he tried to back out, Mickey slammed the door to drive his point further in. Ian couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony as he walked around to the driver’s side and got in—Mickey was acting like the girl he was dressed up as.

“Mickey,” Ian said, placing his hand on his lover's arm, but he shrugged his arm away and took the wig they also had purchased out of the bag.

“Don’t fuckin’ talk to me until we reach our destination,” He huffed, throwing the wig on his head and pawed at it until it fit right, moving the falling strands from blocking his vision. Ian bit his lip, trying not to laugh when Mickey was obviously upset, and turned back to the wheel, starting the car. He drove around the fence and found himself in one of the lanes. His smile was no longer present; the nerves started up again once they were the second car in line to cross.

The border patrol officer bent down to speak to whoever was the driver of the minivan in front of them as another walked around it with a guard dog. The German Shepard he had looked feisty as fuck, like it could rip your arm out with one tug, and it probably could too if someone tried anything or it smelled drugs in their car. Ian had watched enough TV to see what guard dogs and police dogs were capable of. He had half a mind to ask Mickey if he had smuggled any cocaine or something in the car somewhere, but he remembered they had jacked this car and all they had with them were a small duffel and a bookbag.

It didn’t seem like the border officer spoke to the driver for too long when the gate rose and they drove right on through, without any issues.

Fuck. It was their turn…

“Ian... What the fuck, _go_.” Mickey urged when he noticed the car wasn’t moving and the border officer was waving them over. Fuck. Ian accelerated slowly, heart beating so hard he could literally feel each pulse in his throat.

They stopped right in front of the lowered gate and the officer, and Ian rolled down his window. “S-Sorry,” He apologized. The officer was older, greying mustache thick under his nose. He looked at Ian and then Mickey on the other side, who sat still, arms crossed over his chest.

“Passports,” The officer demanded, completely overlooking the apology. The officer with the dog had walked away, probably inspecting the same way he had done with the minivan.

“Yeah,” Ian twisted his torso to grab his bookbag from the back seat and scrambled for his passport, not wanting to waste the officer's time as if he had better things to do. Mickey calmly pulled his out from the purse he had—he really went all out—and handed it to the officer before Ian could get his out. The redhead was still digging around. Did he forget it at home? He could have sworn he had it at their last stop. It wasn’t where he put it. He specifically remembered sliding it into the second large pocket; _what the actual fuck?_

Meanwhile, the officer was looking at the passport that Mickey handed to him and then to Mickey himself, like a bouncer checking IDs at a club. Just then, his bookbag was pulled away from him harshly. Mickey had grabbed it from him and opened up another zipper, pulling out the passport Ian was looking for in one quick swoop, and slapped it in Ian’s hand along with the bookbag in his lap. Ian looked at Mickey briefly before handing the passport to the officer, hoping he didn’t notice his shaking hands.

The officer looked at Ian curiously and Ian cracked a crooked smile. “I’d lose my head if I didn’t have her.”

That was when his blood ran cold and everything around him stopped moving. Plastered on the window of the patrol booth, just behind the officer, was Mickey's rugged face with large bolded black letters above the picture, spelling out "WANTED". Under it was his official name, 'Mikhailo Aleksander Milkovich', his height, weight, age, and brief description of his charges.

Once again, ignoring the comment, the officer continued, which was when Ian noticed the other police officer in his rear view mirror. “Where are you headed?”

“Mex...Mexico,” He answered, trying not to blow this for the both of them.

“Where in Mexico?”

Fuck. Mickey never told him where exactly they were going… But then again, he probably didn’t even know himself. Double fuck. He searched the contents of his mind for cities in Mexico. Touristy places, even though they were most likely headed anywhere but. He turned to look at Mickey who only looked back at him with a raised brow. He knew he probably couldn’t talk so they wouldn’t give himself away, but fuck, he could’ve used the help.

Ian turned back to the officer with another nervous smile. “She’s shy. Puerto Vallarta. We’re going on vacation.” He remembered to add the last bit. At least that part stuck in his head. “First anniversary.”

“For how long?”

Fuck, what is with the third degree? And _why_ didn’t Mickey run through any of this with him?

“A week.”

The officer nodded, still looking at the passports, before he turned around and entered the booth, sitting down at the computer. Ian turned to Mickey, who still stayed silent. The other police officer he momentarily forgot about appeared on Mickey’s side. Mickey turned and jumped in his seat, huffing out a curse word, when he noticed him there too.

“Okay—”

“ _Shit_ —” Ian jumped, hearing the voice on his side, and the officer looking at him curiously again. “Sorry…wasn’t paying attention.”

The officer hummed, obviously not entertained by the idea, and continued on, handing them their passports back. “You’re all clear. Happy anniversary.”

The gates lifted in front of them and Ian had never been so happy to see such a thing. A genuine smile graced his lips as he thanked the officer and wasted no time in driving off. No need to give them the opportunity to take back their allowance.

Driving over the threshold and past the “ _Bienvenido a Mexico_ ” sign really felt like crossing the finish line of a long and dubious journey. It was very quiet and anticlimactic in reality, but in Ian’s head, fireworks were going off, applause and cheers were roaring so loudly (which could have honestly been the rush of blood in his ears) that he had a strong urge to get out of the car and taking his winning bow. What a fucking relief that the hardest part was over.

Not only did they cross the finish line from pain-staking marathon littered with mentally breaking hurdles and obstacles; they also started a new race to what they hoped was true happiness. Maybe they could finally catch a break. Maybe they could finally just be without piles of shit raining down on them while also being pelted with from every angle.

Ian turned to Mickey once more and, this time, Mickey was looking at him with wide eyes and smile just as bright.

“We fuckin’ did it.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

He couldn’t believe he did this. He actually did this.

Ian had been known to do some pretty spontaneous shit in the last couple years due to his illness. He’d ran off to the army, although that was an emotional whim; he’d hi-jacked a military-issued helicopter and trashed it; he’d filmed a DIY porno; he was a stripper that did extra “jobs” on the side; he’d kidnapped a child and stolen a car, attempting to drive to Florida; and even before that the Gallagher life was anything but conventional. He couldn’t ever in his lifetime top any of that, especially when he started his medication regimen that kept him dull and lifeless for so long…

But here he was. In a stolen car. Having successfully smuggled a fugitive, who was also the love of his life, out of the United States and into México. On their way to live on a beach, sipping on endless amounts of tequila, for the rest of their lives. Or until they were caught and brought back to spend the rest of their lives in prison. But if it was that easy for Mickey to escape prison and slip into México, they couldn’t have been smart enough to catch them there.

"Mick, how long do we have to keep driving? Where are we even going?"

Nightfall had long settled in. It had probably been about 4 hours since they crossed the border and they had been awake for 18 hours straight now, just staring at barren roads. It was lulling Ian to sleep, even after the mini heart attack he was having at the border, and he was now feeling the peak of his hunger. Mickey, having long abandoned his wig, had been staring at the map for the past hour and it had usually been a straight shot unless they were given a fork in the road, but both roads had looked just as plain and lacking civilization as the other, so it was a toss-up.

Eventually, they started to approach an actual city; buildings of pastel colors littered the area, so close in proximity that he wondered if cars could even fit on the roads. There were a few women who were walking alongside their cars with their laughing children in tow, and men laughing with other guys who Ian could only assume were friends. It seemed like a friendly place. As they drove further in, the homey-looking buildings started intermingling with more modern buildings all similar height, somewhat resembling the Chicago that they had just left, but still very different.

“Well, Damon did have a place we could go to for a bit—stay with his cousins for as long as well could, but after dumping him back in Texas, I don’t think they’d be jumping for joy finding two white-asses strolling through their door,” Mickey replied, distracted by the map until he set it down in his lap, “And I don’t feel like getting shanked again in the middle of the night when they figure out we left him high and dry, so change of plans.”

“Wait, what?” Ian glanced at his boyfriend—if that’s what they were now—briefly before focusing on the road, so that he didn’t run over any lizards or coyotes or whatever inhabited México that would decide to jump out of a bush. “What do you mean ‘again’?”

“Don’t worry about it,” was all he offered at that.

Ian frowned, but obliged anyway. It didn’t seem like it was a topic he really wanted to talk about, at least not now. Then again, Mickey hadn’t mentioned anything about the joint; only that he missed him and thought about him… “So, then…what are we going to do? ‘Cause I’m hungry and tired.”

“I guess we can find somewhere to stay for the night or somethin’. I need to get out of these clothes” Mickey suggested, looking around the darkened neighborhood, which was beautifully illuminated by their own lights, bouncing off the soft colors and blending into itself. “Do they have even motels in México?”

Ian shrugged, looking around as well. Most of the businesses looked closed for the night, save a few bars where music was blasting out of it. It was a Thursday night; do they party every day? “Hell if I know; this was your idea... Do they even have a Currency Exchange or something to change out our money?”

“Fuck if I know… We’ll figure somethin’ out.”

Ian wasn’t about to stay in some dump hidden in the corner with no lights even though Mickey wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. He didn’t want to be kidnapped or killed before he could spend one full day with Mickey. They drove around for about twenty more minutes before they reached something that seemed like a decent place to stay. The stone building looked…old, practically colonial, and sat on an incline. México was hillier than he, as a Chicagoan, was used to. White pillars surrounded the four story building. Each window had a balcony with white stone railings. There was a sign that read ‘ _Casa de Asistencia Esmerelda_ ’ and right under it, ‘ _Hidalgo de Parral, Chihuahua, MX_ ’. Okay, well, at least one of his questions was answered—that’s where in México they were actually located. Where the fuck that was on the map of México in comparison to where they crossed the border, he couldn’t tell you.

Cars were parked basically on top of each other along the other roads, but around the Casa Esmerelda there were only 2 parked vehicles. Ian was put-off by that very aspect as he drove up behind the dirty white pick-up truck. Sure, he grew up on the Southside of Chicago, in one of the worst neighborhoods, but that was the thing—he _grew up_ there. He learned how to handle himself and learned how to turn people away. Here he was a stereotypical Irish-American with blazing red hair, taller and broader than the majority of people he knew, carrying nothing but $5,000 in pure American dollar bills with clothes to last him all of five days—maybe a week if he reused them well—thrown into a foreign country with people who probably couldn’t speak a lick of English in the absolute slightest. If those weren’t blaring signs asking to get jumped in an alley somewhere, he didn’t learn enough from Chicago as he had thought.

“Jesus,” Ian breathed looking at the building, once he put the car in park, turning the running engine off. The Casa Esmerelda looked even older up close. The stone itself was chipping in places it probably shouldn’t, paint jobs were ignored, piles of trash sat long the wall just waiting to be taken, but by the smell of it, it had been left there for a while.

“At least it’s better than sleeping on the fuckin’ ground again,” Mickey reasoned, doing the same. “Come on, let’s see if we can get a room or somethin’.”

With that, he put on his wig again, slinging his woman purse over his forearm, and stepped out of the car, grabbing his duffel. Ian removed the key from the ignition and grabbed his book bag before stepping out, shutting the door behind him. He watched Mickey walk around to the trunk of the car and disappeared behind it when he crouched down. Tilting his head in curiosity, Ian followed to find him, unscrewing the license plate bolts.

“What are you doing?”

“If the owner of the car decides to put a bolo out for their car, we can’t risk being tracked,” Mickey replied, lowly, grunting a bit as he tried prying it out of its place as well.

“But…driving around without a license plate is perfectly fine?" Did Mickey think this through? Ian wasn't entirely sure, but he assumed all the states required some kind of license plate on the cars otherwise it would come off like if it actually was stolen. Even though their car actually was stolen, no need to draw that kind of attention to themselves.

"Of course not," Mickey huffed, digging in his duffel bag, huffing the falling strands of synthetic hair out of his face. "Do I look that fuckin' dumb?"

A brow of Ian's quirked up as the corner of his lips did as well. "I mean, you're the one in a dress..."

Mickey shot him an icy glare that only made Ian laugh. "Fuck off." He pulled out another license plate and Ian reset the strap of his bookbag on his shoulder, leaning over to see where it was from as he was screwing it back in. It was a license plate from Maryland.

"Is that real?"

"What d'you think?"

"Is it valid?"

"Of course not." Mickey stuck the old license plate in his duffle bag, swiping the dirt off his hands and stood up. "Okay. We should be good now."

"' _Should be_ '?"

Mickey rolled his eyes and turned on his heels, strutting down the hill. Ian locked the car and followed Mickey, purposefully staying right behind him, his eyes trailing down that backside. He really did have nice legs, Ian thought to himself with a smirk. When Mickey turned his head to see if Ian was following since he wasn't right beside him, Ian gave him a full smile, which only resulted in Mickey shaking his head and continued on his way, turning the corner.

They entered the dimly lit lobby area. The floor was made of 4-by-4 inch black and white tiles, some chipped and cracked here and there. A large, dingy red carpet brought them to the front desk, which wasn't very far from the door as it was. There was no bell on the front door to indicate any possible guests had arrived and there also wasn't a single person at the actual desk. The two Americans looked at each other for a brief second for any inclination on what to do now. Neither of them really had answer.

With a thoughtful hum, Ian leaned over the counter a bit in attempt to peak around the corner of the backroom, but from the angle they stood, he couldn't really see much of anything. He looked about the desk and there were a few pamphlets of places to go in the neighborhood, a notebook that held unintelligible scribbles, and a cup of what he assumed was coffee, which meant someone was actually here. But no bell to press and he frowned at a loss.

Mickey let out a huff, taking matters into his own hands, and knocked, basically banged, on the wooden surface. "Excuse me! Hello!"

"Really?" Ian whispered, harshly. Mickey only gave him a expression of furrowed brows and curled lips that mouthed 'What?' Just then a heavy-set woman waddled out from the back and approached them, climbing into the stool.

"Hola! Bienvenido a Casa de Asistencia Esmerelda," Her cheeky smile caused her eyes to disappeared into crescent-shaped slits. “Son americanos?” She looked between the both of them and Ian just looked at Mickey. He had never taken a Spanish class in the three years he was in high school, his true knowledge of Spanish went as far as swear words and hustle phrases that he learned on the street. At least by working in the medical field he was able to pick up on a little more appropriate terms. However, he could definitely understand words that actually sounded English and the rest he could just assume.

“Uh… Sí,” Ian nodded. He looked up at the ceiling as if flipping through the short book of Spanish words in his head to realize he had no idea how to ask for a room. Fuck it. “Um…” He pointed between he and Mickey. “Tienes un…er…room?” She stared at Ian blankly, her smile unmoving. “Room…para dormir.”

“Ah, sí, sí,” She smiled again and thumbed through in her notebook of scribbles. “Necesitan uno cuarto?”

‘Cuarto’? Did that mean ‘room’? I guess. Ian nodded, continuing to struggle with this conversation. “Sí, uno cuarto,” He held up his index finger, “Uno cuarto. Uh— How many nights?” He asked, directing the question to Mickey, who just shrugged.

“Three?” He answered in a whisper.

With that, Ian turned back to the woman and he'd up three fingers. “Por tres noches.” She nodded and turned around, grabbing two keys from the cork board of pinned keys. Ian and Mickey gave each other an impressed look before he took the keys from her.

“Dos mil noveciento cincuenta y treinta y dos pesos.”

All Ian understood was two million something something and two pesos. He definitely did not have two million pesos or even one peso. Where the _fuck_ was he going to get two million pesos? How many dollars is two million pesos anyway?

The woman seemed to understand the confusion and shock going through Ian’s face and gaping mouth and pulled out a pen and paper, writing something down on a notepad before sliding it over to Ian. She wrote ‘2951 pesos, $165’ in small scribbles and once again a wave of relief washed over him as it did just five hours ago. Oh, thank fuck American dollars were allowed here. He had more than enough for that.

Ian swung his book bag over his chest and unzipped the front zipper, thumbing his wad of cash and pulled out the exact amount. He wondered if he could do the whole currency exchange here. In a brief second, he decided against it to attempt finding somewhere a little less…shady to do so, but asked to switch an additional $200 to pesos by sliding the bills to her and pointing at the word pesos and throwing the word ‘ _cambiar_ ’ out there. Somehow, she understood that as well and did the exchange for him. At least that should tide them over a little while.

“Tu nombre?”

“Nombre?” Ian questioned and the woman only nodded. She needed a number? Number for what? That was a word that hadn't come up very often, if even at all. He just shook his head with a shrug and it was her turn to search for the words.

“Name,” She offered finally, voice slow and thick. Ian handed her his ID to make it easier for her and him because he didn't know how to spell in Spanish either. Once getting his credentials, said another sentence in Spanish as she pointed down the hall that probably led to the rooms. Ian just nodded, gathering his things together. They'd figure out the building’s room layout themselves. Numbers were universal.

“Gracias,” Ian smiled, taking the money and keys, and walked in the direction she pointed to. Mickey had grabbed something quickly from the desk and Ian shot him a confused look. He held up one of the pamphlets that he had been looking through while Ian was conversing with the woman.

“Find somewhere or something to eat around here.”

They reached their room and Ian unlocked the door. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he figured it would be as run down as the outside looked. It actually was everything but. Plain and cheap-looking as hell, but it looked sturdy and decently clean enough. The flooring was the exact same as the hallways, a tan-beige mix of linoleum squares. The walls were a similar tan and only held one large photo frame of a sea landscape. There was one full-sized bed covered with a thin blue patterned comforter spread completely over it. A small nightstand sat beside the bed and, next to it, a matching desk with a lamp that looked like it came from the ‘30s. A simple 10-button phone sat atop the table. Across from them was one of the large windows they saw from the outside and it did overlook the street they walked in from. The balcony wasn't one you could step onto, however; it was barely even a foot out. Oh well, Ian wasn't going to be picky about. They at least found somewhere to sleep.

“I'm gonna go shower real quick,” Mickey stated as he put down his duffel bag and Ian threw his bookbag on the bed.

Ian nodded, taking a seat on the edge before swinging one leg over, resting his head on the hidden pillow. It was a decent comfort, not too hard, but it wasn't too soft either. He lifted the covers and the mattress was only about 4 inches thick.

Mickey had left the door cracked open slightly and the sound of rushing water filled the room; the only sound in the entire place. Ian pulled out his phone, noticing he was low on battery power now. He took his charger out of his bookbag and plugged it into the outlet, which he found out could thankfully take his charger.

There were a couple more text messages from Trevor, asking why he hadn't texted back and then apologized for not being around as much because of work. He once again ignored the text, an uncomfortable feeling of guilt rolling about in his gut, and cleared it from the screen. He knew there was a time that he would actually have to break it to his boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, whatever the fuck they were now; he had to. Trevor had been surprisingly 'okay' with hearing his boyfriend's ex-boyfriend escaped jail and is on the run. Well--as 'okay' as one could possibly be without being ten times as clingy and constantly asking for reassurance of their relationship. He had just let Ian be, save for a few of his curious questions, and gave him his space, although that part couldn't be helped. And then Ian had literally just up and left without telling him or a single person, leaving him in the dust.

He was a terrible fucking person.

He sighed and set his phone down besides him, rubbing his fingertips over his eyes. No other text messages, which, on one hand, was a relief because no one noticed he was gone, but, on the other hand, it was upsetting because no one noticed he was gone. Honestly, he couldn’t have expected any different when he had left for the army for months and no one cared to reach out to find out where he was. At least Trevor sensed something was off.

The creak of the bathroom door pulled Ian from his thoughts and the image of Mickey in nothing but a towel shoved them back in the deep crevices of his mind.

“Much better,” Ian simpered, propping himself up by his elbows. His lips donned a sly smile when Mickey graced Ian with his presence, walking over to where his duffle sat on the floor next to Ian.

The brunet chuckled, grabbing clothes out of the bag, “Shut up.”

“Oh, don’t be in a hurry to put on clothes on my account.”

One of Mickey’s brows rose and he locked eyes with Ian, who wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was checking him out. “I thought you were ‘hungry’.”

Ian hummed, “I am. Craving something a little different now, though.”

Now, both brows rose as Ian’s smile turned into a grin before they immediately captured each other’s lips in a hold neither wanted to let go of. Mickey fisted Ian’s shirt, leaning him back into the bed, as he climbed over. Tongues wrestled for familiar dominance and Ian tasted fresh mint on Mickey’s breath.

Dirty-Mickey was attractive as hell, but clean-Mickey… Fuck. Ian’s hands quickly rose to Mickey’s jawline, pulling him impossibly closer, the older male settling between Ian’s long legs as he worked on removing his belt. Teeth clashed and tongues fondled as Ian toed off his shoes, Mickey throwing his belt before working on getting his shirt off. Ian sat up, grabbing the back collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one swift motion.

Without a moment to pause, Ian connected his lips to Mickey's, circling an arm around the older man’s waist, and flipped them over. A squeak of surprise and amusement left Mickey's lips, instantly hooking an arm around the back of Ian's neck, and Ian loved it. The redhead latched onto Mickey's neck, sucking on the supple, damp skin. Mickey's scent was still the same mixed in with whatever soap he had used in the shower and it made him delirious, delirious for the man he'd loved so long.

Mickey chuckled, turning his head to give his lover better access to the spot that drove him crazy. His callused fingers threaded through locks of red, chomping down on his lips to muffle the sounds Ian was coercing out of him.

Ian kissed up his jawline before connecting to his mouth as his hand traveled down his stomach. “You know we don't need to be quiet anymore, right?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey replied, no heat in his dismissal, and he tried to shut Ian up by kissing him again and tugging on his pants, but the redhead wasn't having it. “Come on, Gallagher, you gonna get on me or you really wanna keep talkin’?”

Ian just stared into Mickey's eyes before swooping down, latching on to his neck once again. The sigh of gratification and content was louder in his ears as he felt the movement of a smile against Mickey’s jaw. He was definitely not careful this time not to leave a mark on his lover. Usually he was, but now he could let the whole world know and they really wouldn't know. A little secret Ian was quite alright with sharing. Using one arm to balance himself, Ian untied the towel that sat securely on his boyfriend’s waist and tugged it off. Mickey lifted his ass and the towel was thrown onto the floor in a careless heap.

Lips trailed open-mouthed kisses down the bare chest, Ian teasing him with his tongue. Their eyes stayed locked on each other's, sending silent gestures of approval, which only fueled Ian's self-made challenge of making Mickey break his inhibitions in bed. Mickey bent his knees, sitting up on his elbows as Ian creeped into the tuft of dark hair and his dick twitched when he heard Ian inhaling his unique scent.

“ _Fuck…_ ” Mickey breathed out as his head lolled back into his shoulders when Ian took his half-hard cock in his mouth. His previously abused tongue ran down the underside of his length, the addicting twitch stiffening the muscle. Ian trailed his hands over Mickey's thighs as the hairs tickled his palms, being called to attention. When he reached the knees, masterfully pumping Micky's cock with his lips, Ian slid his hands under the thick thighs, pushing them up until his knees were bent, grazing the skin with the tips of his fingernails as he did so. He felt another twitch and he continued sliding his hands until they cupped his ass again, holding him in place.

Ian could feel fingers thread through his hair, settling on the back of his head, which prompted him to flick eyes up at Mickey. He was gone, so fucking gone. And it was beautiful. His back arched, dusty pink nipples standing erect against the pale skin. He could already see the forming marks on his throat and neck, soon to be dark and proud. Mickey's mouth hung open, nothing but staccato breaths managing to see themselves through; he was still holding himself back and Ian knew if he was to continue any longer, he would finish before Ian's name could leave his lips. He wasn't about to let that happen.

Ian sat back and Mickey’s hips followed his mouth with a groan.

"What the hell, man?"

Ian sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, savoring the taste that was only unique to the man below him. The taste that was only a distant memory for so long and was elated that it would be the only one he’d be tasting for a long while to come.

“Turn around,” He commanded, voice low and dripping with insistent arousal.

Mickey didn't spend another second to object or make a smart-ass comment having to do with him not being a bitch or whatever, something Ian would’ve completely ignored and continued on. He pulled a pulled under his arms as he got on his stomach, lifting his ass up in the air, for only Ian to see. Ian bit his lip, admiring the bubble butt that he had claimed all those years ago and never really given up, even though he had tried many times. Both hands splayed against each cheek, taking them in his palms and massaging them. He watched the skin beneath them blanch and redden, blanch and redden, as Mickey moved against them, the small taut bud peeking from under every so often.

Without hesitation, Ian leaned in and pressed his lips against the mound of flesh. He scattered them with warm, open-mouth kisses, moving up to the dip where there was less muscle.

"Tell me what you want," Ian spoke, warm breath ghosted the pale skin. He felt the shiver run down Mickey's spine.

"Ian..." Mickey breathed.

"Tell me."

"Fuck, I want you..." He replied, voice barely above a whisper, as he rocked back against Ian's hand, which had snaked its way between his legs, toying with his aching erection. Ian knew he wanted to get off, needed it, but it wasn't very often he got to see Mickey like this. They had all the time in the world right now. No need to hurry anymore. No need to be quiet. No need to reserve themselves. He wanted to enjoy every fucking second.

"I can't hear you."

A waning sound emitted from Mickey and it went straight to Ian's cock, aching within the confines of his boxers. "I want you to fuck me!"

Ian couldn't help the grin that emerged from his lips. It was always Ian needing Mickey, Ian wanting Mickey, but he'd never got this side of Mickey before. It was like a drug he craved.

He straightened up, pushing his jeans down his legs, and kicking them off the bed. He barely acknowledged the thud it made when it hit the floor. His focus was on slicking his cock with his saliva, mixing it with the precome that had been gathering at the tip. He curled a hand over Mickey's opposite cheek, pulling it apart as he gripped his cock, lining it up with the hungry hole, expanding and puckering, calling for his tip to slip in and fill him whole. Who was he to object?

Gripping on to the mound of flesh, Ian guided the head of cock into Mickey, whose body seemed to become jello once it had filled him half-way. His body instinctively took Ian all the way until he settled at the hilt.

" _Fuck..._ " Mickey exhaled, fingers gripping the sheet. Ian had only stilled for maybe three seconds before Mickey pushed against him. "Move." Ian obliged, pulling out to the bottom of the bed. Mickey shivered again at the friction and groaned when Ian slammed back in. "Fuck _me_...!"

"Glady," Ian replied unnecessarily, pulling back once again and beginning impulsion of the body below him. He held Mickey in place before using his body to ram into his as he met half way with the same force, causing Mickey to groan audibly. The room started to fill with sharp slaps, squeaking beds, deep thuds--a beautiful symphony.

"Ugh...! God— F-Fuck...!"

Ian's lips curled in the corners. Just as he thought—music to his ears. He nudged Mickey with his hips, instructing him to move up. Mickey, again, wasted no time in doing so, getting almost flush against the wall. His forearm pressed against it to steady himself and Ian thrusted into Mickey harder, leaning over him to place his hand on top of his lover's. He attached his lips to Mickey's neck again, wanting to be connected in every way, and he felt Mickey lean back into him instinctively. As much as he wanted that, it hindered what he was trying to accomplish, so he nudged him forward again.

"Touch yourself..." Ian whispered into his ear, voice dripping with sensuality and control, letting his nose graze his ear and then his lips followed. It brought a shiver and a soft moan beneath him, but Mickey didn't move. Ian let go of his waist to take his hand, guiding it over to his strained cock. He began a slower thrust to match with their combined pump, both being responsible for Mickey soon unraveling.

"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna cum..."

"Don't stop," Ian said once he let go of Mickey's hand around his member and took hold of his waist again, getting in the proper angle to aim for his prostate. He'd been so well acquainted with it over the last couple days that he didn't really have to search for it because he immediately got a vocal reaction from Mickey.

"Right there! Oh, f-fuck, keep goin'. Please."

God, he loved it when Mickey begged. It was such a rare occurrence, like the discovery of a dinosaur bone, or Mickey's conscience. It fueled the intensity of each thrust and in three, five, six thrusts Mickey came with a groan of Ian's name, and an added curse for a Mickey-personalized response. His body stilled and jerked with no rhyme or reason, but the muscle around Ian's cock pulled and tightened and soon, Ian pulled out quickly as ribbons of warm white shooting onto Mickey's backside as he pressed up against him. His fingers curled around Mickey's until they slipped in between each other, holding on to each other tightly, securely.

It took a few minutes to come down, but there they kneeled, pressed against each other, breathing heavily, hot, sticky, wet.

"So much for that shower," Mickey said, breathlessly.

Ian coughed out a laugh. "I guess so."

"And we lost a pillow." Mickey pulled the pillow from below him and Ian saw the soiled spot; he almost wanted to frame it. This was the day they escaped the States; this was the day they made love, free and unrestrained; this was the day they began their story. Their story finally. But then he figured, maybe that was the weirdest thing anyone could ever do, right next to sniffing their significant other's underwear, so he decided against it and just let it fall somewhere onto the floor.

Ian chuckled and moved back, suddenly feeling cold. He wasn't sure if it was due to the drying cum splatted on his stomach, lack of body heat, lack of Mickey, or all of the above. To save spending too long away, he grabbed the towel that was discarded from earlier and wiped his stomach off before wiping Mickey's back. He pressed his self against Mickey's back again, to clean Mickey's soiled hand and his now flaccid cock to find there was more of a mess on the headboard in front of him.

"Shit, Mickey. You came quite a bit," Ian marveled.

"I'm potent, sue me."

Ian laughed. "Good thing I'm the one doing the fucking then."

"You're so fucking weird, man."

"I love you, too." Ian's grin seemed to be plastered to his face, unable to move, even as he wiped off the furniture.

Mickey collapsed onto the mattress beside him and turned onto his back, letting an arm drape over his chest. Once finished, Ian followed right beside him, turning onto his side. He just watched Mickey’s lips form a lazy smile as his chest rose and fell heavily, sleep seeming to get a hold of him. A moment passed before he leaned over the side of the bed, shuffling around for something. He came back up with a cigarette and a lighter in his hand, popping the stick between his lips and lighting it.

“Fuck, Gallagher,” He took a drag and released the smoke through his nose, “You need to do whatever you just did more often.”

Ian chuckled, “Are you saying that it isn’t good every other time?”

“You said it, not me,” He grinned, holding out the cigarette towards Ian, who then took it, purposefully brushing his fingers along his hand.

“Fuck you,” Ian laughed and leaned over his lover, kissing him deeply as if they hadn’t just done so 30 minutes ago. Mickey sighed into the kiss, letting Ian take the wet muscle. Ian pulled back with a grin after a few moments, Mickey chasing those lips he never could get enough of, before pecking his lips once more. He rolled back to his side of the bed, taking a drag of the cigarette with a satisfied smile.

They laid there, spent, naked, content in silence. It seemed like something they hadn't have had in years.

"So," Ian spoke, breaking the silence, "This is our life now..." He watched the smoke billow into the air, doing its graceful dance, as he passed the stick over.

"It can be. For good."

He liked the sound of that. Him and Mickey, for the rest of their lives. The way it was supposed to be.

 


End file.
